


May Day

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anniversary, Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hugs, Hurt Rowena MacLeod, Rowena Gets A Hug, Rowena Needs A Hug, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: It's been two years since Rowena's brutal death and some wounds have still not completely healed.





	May Day

You thought this time would be different — better — but one look at Rowena and you knew it was as bad as the year before.

Two years ago to the day, Lucifer had shown up at her door while you were out shopping and had tortured and eventually murdered her in a way you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. You'd walked back in on her charred remains, and once she was healed, after a few long, excruciating days, it was up to you to pick up the pieces.

There were still some that would always remain lost, scattered pieces of her soul forever lost to the memories, to the trauma that had been imprinted on her for the rest of her existence.

Rowena made marvelous progress. The experience had changed her, made her softer, more vulnerable, but she didn't let it define her. Fewer nightmares haunted her dreams. Flashbacks that struck at random almost every day lessened to barely a few a month. The fear remained, but with Lucifer's death, it wasn't as prevalent anymore, wasn't as dire. She wasn't afraid of her own shadow. Now, it was just a feeling that lingered sometimes when she remembered; a feeling that went away as quickly as it appeared and, unlike at the start, didn't manage to ruin her day.

Unless that day happened to be May 18.

The anniversary that should have gotten easier in its second year, but struck just as hard as the very first one.

Rowena had woken up first. You couldn't tell when. All you knew was, when you woke up, the bed was empty, her side cold as a winter's day. You found her in the living room, sipping a mug of steaming tea you assumed wasn't her first (tea was her beverage of choice when she was nervous. Or happy. Or anything. She was Scottish) and staring straight ahead as if hypnotized.

A cup of coffee, also hot, rested atop the coffee table. A sprinkle of warmth shot through you. Even amongst her turmoil, she thought of you. She always thought of you.

You wished her a good morning and gifted her with a kiss to the cheek. She returned the greeting in a quiet, monotone voice. No emotion, pure blankness equal to the one on her face. As if she decided not to feel, not to let the storm of anguish that was raging inside of her to the surface.

After all, feeling was weakness.

And she was not weak.

Your heart broke for her. It wasn't right. None of what she'd gone through was right. You wished you could take it away, transfer the burden onto yourself, or at the very least half of it. Anything to make it easier on her.

Rowena had done plenty of horrible, horrible things in her long life, but she didn't deserve to suffer like this.

Nobody deserved it.

You quickly went through your morning rituals (putting on clothes and brushing your teeth and hair), and took a seat next to her on the couch. Her stare remained, just as intense, glued to the wall across from her. She didn't acknowledge your presence, didn't even blink as your shoulder brushed hers. It was as if she had turned to stone, a statue with small breaths and soft heartbeats.

"You know I'm here, right?" you said softly.

Rowena didn't respond. Just took another sip of her tea.

You took her hand in yours, twined your fingers in a knot. "You can talk to me. Or not. Whatever you want. Just please don't think you're alone in this."

She would never be alone again. You'd left that day following an argument (you didn't even know what it had been about anymore) and had spent the entire afternoon shopping in attempts to cool down. And when you finally did, you returned to find her murdered. Burned beyond recognition. The smell of charred flesh and blood still lingered in your nose, fresh as the day you'd first felt it.

To add insult to injury, the two of you were forced to remain in that hotel room for almost a week afterwards. You couldn't just take a burned up body to your car without anyone noticing. She had to stay in that place filled with horrible memories until she healed up enough to resemble a human being. To resemble herself again.

A few times, amidst healing, when she still had no eyes and the renewed skin was so raw you weren't allowed to even hold her hand, she'd begged you to kill her. Begged you to end the agony she was in, to give her peace.

You still had nightmares about it.

"I'm right here," you said, squeezing her hand in emphasis of your words. "I'm not going anywhere, unless you want me to."

Finally, Rowena's eyelids fluttered. She looked down to your linked hands, the marble of her face melting back into skin, sadness and fear splashing over her like cold water, twisting her features into a look that shattered your heart and soul the moment it broke to the surface.

"Stay," she said. Her voice was low, a whisper, lips trembling. "Please."

"Of course," you promised.

A tear slid down her cheek, followed by dozens more. Her pale face flushed a deep, scarlet red, green eyes puffing up. A small sob escaped her mouth. She put her free hand to it, tried to stop the rest of them from breaking free. Tried to stop the wails and shrieks and blood-curdling screams from springing to life.

"It's okay," you said, rubbing her shoulder. "It's okay, honey. Let it out."

For a moment you thought she wouldn't, stubborn as she was.

Then she buried her face in your chest and helpless, heartbreaking sobs tore from her throat, loud, piercing, free.

Your arms were instantly around her, holding her tight, hands gently patting her back.

"I thought it would get better with time," she cried. "But it still hurts."

"It will get better," you told her. It had to get better. She couldn't be stuck like this for the rest of her immortal existence. It wouldn't go away, but she would learn to live with it. She just had to give it time.

"When?" she asked, desperate, broken.

Your heart ached for her. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. "In a few years?"

Rowena shook her head. "I can't wait that long. I can't live like this!"

"You have to be patient, sweetheart. I promise you things will get better. They always get better."

"I hate this."

 _Me, too,_ you thought. Oh, how you hated it!

A few moments passed in silence, then she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you asked, confused.

"Putting you through this. Being so bloody weak." Her voice was scorn personified. She hated herself, hated that she couldn't control this aspect of her. She always had full control, always made all the rules about herself, her body, her emotions. Losing it scared her, confused her, sickened her. She hated it.

"I don't mind," you told her. Your hold on her tightened on instinct, an emphasis. "I'll always be with you, no matter what. I love you."

What happened wasn't her fault. The consequences, trauma, turmoil weren't her fault. None of it made you love her any less.

If anything, it only straightened your bond.

Rowena calmed a tad. "I hope the bastard is rotting."

"Me, too." Hoping to lighten the mood, you changed the subject, "Wanna stay in bed today? We can cuddle and watch trashy movies and you can complain about them."

She let out a snort. "Sounds fun."

"It will be," you said with a laugh. "I already have a few in mind."

"Should I be scared?"

"Be very, very scared," you said. "And prepare to complain."

And get her mind off the bad memories of today.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


End file.
